Morning Field
Could I write a sonnet sweet,
To match the view afore my feet?
Could I paint a masterpiece -
With oils and brush, this life unleash?
Or draw the crowds to sell the view
Before the dawn and day are through.
What to do and how to say,
Where to go - the quickest way,
Surely such is not my own,
To hold to self, to bring to home,
How was I the one to tread
Lone path, yet then to find instead,
Subtle colours splashed about
That made this sprightly view stand out?
Was I taken, guided blind
To better things than I could find.
This day in time, the heart is healed
With sight of such a morning field.
ęPhilip Holden



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